August 24, 2000/Day 19 
I choked down the potato mix, put on my suit, boots and Gaitors, and was able to get out the door but not onto my feet. Unable to stand - much less pick up and carry the pack - the pain in my hips is incredible. It made me rethink the importance of getting sunrise pics this morning. I sat here and wept long and hard, feeling really sorry for myself. Tomorrow will surely be a better day. 

August 25, 2000/Day 20 
Last night was a restless one; full of disconnected dreams of places I have never been and people I have never met. What a relief to have returned from my latest trip to the pain farm. 

Clouds streamed by as I stepped onto the ledge, obscuring the view at first. Then it suddenly cleared to reveal a dazzling spectacle; a carpet of clouds that seemed to reach to the very gates of Heaven. Cast in pink, blue, orange, and turquoise, billows of cotton stretched across the horizon.

I was on my 35th exposure for the evening and the sun had long since set, when an errant gust nearly sent me off the ledge toward the tent. A fall in that direction probably would not have killed me, but it would have broken some bones. This, I guess, would end up the same up here in this growing storm. 

August 26, 2000/Day 21 
Hurricane force winds have pummeled the summit for 13 hours straight now, without letting up for so much as a minute. The worst of it hit a few minutes past midnight. Suddenly the SW corner of the tent collapsed, as I sat here baby-sitting another storm. It stayed in that position for over an hour with the force of this single gust. The tent was at full tilt - another 10 or 20 miles per hour would have taken me right off of here. Sometimes you can't distinguish between the sound of thunder overhead and the roar of wind barreling up the glaciers from below. Either way, it was too dangerous to get out at that point, even though the anchors were in need of attention. 

By 3:30 or 4:00 a.m. I was too exhausted to stay up. 

I awoke with a start after first light, when one of the poles touched my chest. I didn't recognize the inside of the tent - even after three weeks of living in here. The entire south side had given way under the weight of accumulated ice. After dressing, I stepped out onto the glacier and was thrown hard to the ground and spun around to the east. I leaned back and grabbed the SE anchor and pulled myself up alongside the tent to keep from sliding away across the glacier. There was no choice in the matter - I had to clear the tent before getting back in. 

The shovel was conveniently sticking out of the snow right next to me. I yanked it out and bashed ice from the tent in an angry fit, returning hypothermic. The next time the tent needs to be cleared, unless there is an emergency with an anchor, I'll wait until the wind calms down some before getting out again. This can be a nasty little bed and breakfast at times. 

Speaking of breakfast, I was in the 18th hour of this latest storm when three climbers approached the tent. Yes, they were real. Steve had arranged a re-supply, and there was Adam Bly on his second ascent of Glacier Peak this season, accompanied by Jason Scott, and Greg Parke. I touched Adam's gloved hand to make sure that they were real, and then quickly made room for them in here. 

They were covered in ice and Jason was starting to shake uncontrollably. As they got in Adam produced a bag containing the most important items I had left down in my truck - yes, they had found it. This parcel contained several cans of Spam, saltine crackers, some black bean mix (now, why did I by that?) and some candy bars. Someone had donated four power bars and a freeze dried dinner to the expedition earlier, and I was fully prepared to make this last eight more nights. 

With all of this food I might even gain weight on this expedition! Well, maybe not. 

The storm was worsening, and Adam, Jason and Greg were in really bad shape. I was extremely worried about them as they left a few minutes after their arrival. What an incredible sacrifice; they will never know how much this meant to me personally, or to the outcome of the expedition. Steve Peterson will, though. As these three climbers are less than half my age, I am very impressed with these kids. In particular, Adam's enthusiasm for adventure and desire to contribute toward this cause, seems to know no end. 

August 28, 2000/Day 23 
The wind had calmed to a reasonable level by mid morning, by the time a young couple stopped by for a visit. While 'Christy' was busy elsewhere, 'Dave' confided in me that he was minutes away from asking her to marry him. He asked if I would take pictures to commemorate the event, slightly after the fact. I not only agreed to do so, but offered to use my camera and film as well. A few minutes later the three of us were stunned to see a fully loaded Alaska Airlines DC10 jetliner circling close by Glacier Peak to the east, at about 9,000 feet. What's up with that? I made sure to wave back. 

By the way, Christy said 'yes' to Dave. 

A full-blown storm erupted around me while I was out goofing around on the glacier after sunset that evening. It was all I could do to get back to the tent's relative safety only fifty yards away. Within a few minutes of my return the entire glacier was plastered in blue ice. 

As I slept during the night the sleet quietly turned to rain - yes, rain! Out of nearly 100 nights spent atop Pacific Northwest volcanoes as of that date, this was the first time I had ever seen anything like this. I didn't even know that it was possible for it to rain up there, and so it was strange looking out onto a pouring rain storm over the summit of a major peak - much less at night. Potentially serious consequences arose for me when the anchors started to melt out and water began to drain beneath the tent. Fortunately, the wind was blowing at only 30 m.p.h. or so at the time. Then, I was asleep again an hour or so before sunrise when an explosion ripped through the glacier like a cannon blast. My heart nearly stopped cold as a shudder raced beneath the snow, and the floor of the tent fell in several feet. 

Suddenly the temperature plummeted. Within seconds the tent was encased in no less than an inch of solid water ice. Now things were getting back to normal. 

One good kick from in here and the ice shattered like sheets of broken glass. 

August 30, 2000/Day 25 
This latest storm ended as quickly as it began, at half past six this morning. At 9:00 it is warm and beautiful on the mountaintop. 

A group of about a dozen climbers from National Outdoor Leadership reached the summit and were soon engaged in singing songs that echoed kindly over to my lonely tent. Clouds rose and fell around us as I took photographs of them spelling out NOLS with their bodies in the snow, with my now water damaged camera. It is obvious that this school teaches their students the skills necessary to climb mountains and stay alive in the process. Of equal importance, in my estimation, is that they also learn to have fun. NOLS seems to advocate both safety and enjoyment in the natural world. What a concept, and what a neat organization. 

The radio weather forecast late that Wednesday afternoon was ominous. The snow level was supposed to drop to 5,000 feet by Friday night. An "autumn like" storm warning was in effect for the North Cascades and temperatures were expected to be 10 to 15 degrees below average. Local Meteorologist Harry Wappler said a low-pressure center would park itself off the Washington coast, and that it would probably remain in place throughout the seven day forecast. Anyone making plans to venture into the mountains of Washington State was strongly advised to think twice. This, I guessed, would include one adventurer camped alone atop Glacier Peak. I was angry at, and disgusted with, the weather, as if that would do me any good. 

Clouds rose for a moment as I sat looking wearily out the tent door at much of Washington State. After a few weeks of this kind of view you tend to tire of it. This is when you really appreciate the "simple" things of home, which are none too "simple" for most people on our Planet: food, running water, and a soft bed under a real roof. How fortunate I am to have been born in the great United States of America, that I may engage in such self-serving activities. 

And yet for this ideal, I was suffering in long measure in my own right. When the temperature dropped a stunning 30 degrees in only two minutes, my mind was made up. A group of climbers was scheduled to make the nine mile trip to Boulder Basin that Saturday. Sunday they were to attempt the summit to help me down with my gear. I pictured my friends caught up in a storm high upon the mountain, in a state of utmost misery. Were they unable to reach me for some reason, in a whiteout or deep snow for instance, then I would be left up there for as much as another week. I was weak after just 25 days on the summit - shaking badly at times - and dangerously detached from my surroundings. Even another two or three more days would have probably finished me off, or so I thought. As it would turn out later back at home, even another day spent atop Glacier Peak would have sprung me loose from this world. 

I decided that if a group of climbers were to reach the summit the next day, or the next, I would ask if I could follow them down as far as the Boulder Basin. This would get me down off the glaciers and into the forests where I could better fend for myself. If nothing else, one thing I do very well is camp. Just give me a big old forest to hang out in when it's all done, and everything eventually will be all right. 

Even if this group was to make it to the summit it was doubtful that they would see my tent, and even more doubtful that I would see or hear them through the storm. Just in case, I gathered all of my belongings and divided them into two piles on the tent floor. One pile would go into my pack and be carried down. The second would stay, and either be carried down by the recovery group - or by me, a week or so later, or as soon as I was able to walk again. I tried to make sense of it all: "Let's see, the CD player can stay. The stove and fuel will go along with the tent. The camera and exposed film has first priority, of course. My bag of feces will go down with me, no matter what. This spare stove and these spare parts can stay as I just rebuilt stove #1. The two expedition suits must go down with me . . ." 

Before long I had half a dozen nylon sacks organized and labeled. I left the tent and hiked to some rocks under the mountain's highest point, where I stashed three of the bags. The rest, with the exception of the camera gear, I loaded into my pack in the event of a sudden departure. An hour before sunset the clouds were still acting unruly, rising and falling across the summit in a fashion that now seemed more cruel than beautiful to me. Deciding that this might be my last night spent atop Glacier Peak on this turn, I left camp with the camera and headed for one of my favorite ledges. 

This time the airy perch seemed less than kind and gentle. It was brutally cold atop Glacier Peak in contrast to earlier in the day. I sensed that the expedition was winding down to a close two days early. 

Mount Pilchuck (center), and the Olympic Peninsula, at sunset.

Later I sat in the tent thinking: "If I leave the summit 48 hours short of one month, will this expedition be incomplete? Will I have failed to reach the objective?" For years I had regretted having to bail out six days early, after only 22 days on Mount St. Helens. I had long believed that avalanches and neck deep snow shouldn't have driven me from the mountain. "Will I end up feeling the same about Glacier Peak, if I leave two days early?" Finally I decided that it would be better to succeed at spending two days shy of a month atop this volcano, than to die trying to attain my goal of an even four weeks. 

In any case, the time had come for my one meal of the day - Ramen, of course. The difference this time was that I could use all of the seasoning I wanted. For me, there might be no "tomorrow" on the mountain. 

High winds caught Glacier Peak that night from a fierce low pressure center approaching from the North Pacific. Even as the front made it's way onshore I asked the mountain to pose for one final series of pictures. Back in the tent later I pictured myself trapped on the mountaintop a week later, as the rescue climb became a recovery mission. "Four summit expeditions, and four descents in storm. What are the odds of that?", I wondered, glumly. A moment later a blast of wind hit the summit like the good old days of the expedition, when I relished in those lethal winds. Now I wanted them to just go away. 

The tent bent alarmingly into my face with more powerful gusts, hammering relentlessly in and out: bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang, while at the same time the floor of the tent pulled violently from its four anchors: bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam bam! You get the point. In one episode that kind of thing would hold up for over 48 hours at a time. It finally dawned on me why no one has ever stayed a month atop Glacier Peak before. The roar is often almost deafening, and the confusion it can create is simply mind numbing. Lighting a stove, or even worse, hovering over a ziplock bag (as everything is carried down and out from my environmentally sensitive expeditions) becomes more of a chore than it probably should be. 

Every minute of your experience seems to slow to an hour, and every hour to an eternity, as the tent endlessly pitches back and forth and inhales and exhales and shudders and pops, threatening your very life. 

By early Thursday morning I was as afraid as I had ever been in my life. This seemed like a proper time to engage in some good old-fashioned prayer. No matter what religion to which you adhere, you are likely to come to this point sooner or later when sorely tested. For some reason I kept visualizing a lone climber ascending Glacier Peak, not knowing why he or she was doing so. My prayer vigil continued: "if there is someone climbing this mountain in this storm, please give them the strength to continue. Oh, God, let them go on!"